


Just to Show You the Lights

by Izzyv1o



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Relationship, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, sometimes feelings sneak up on you, these things happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5636923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzyv1o/pseuds/Izzyv1o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac and Combeferre rely on each other just as much as any other people who have been friends since college. When they hang out it's all Normal Friend Things. Right?</p><p>(A story that got out of hand about feelings between friends getting out of hand.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just to Show You the Lights

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to just be porn practice, but then it got 10000 words out of hand
> 
> (thx to [Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UQKnjDpmlio) for the title help)

Courfeyrac enters her apartment, shrugging off her coat and slipping out of her shoes, forcing herself to hold in her sigh of relief at least until she was sitting down again. First, her alarm went off late, then the line at the coffee shop up the block was longer than she could afford to wait in. By the time she got to her desk, she was under-caffeinated and was already pulling out sticky notes for the four new tasks she'd been given on her way in.

The rest of her day hadn't provided any relief.

Well, except for the text from Combeferre at 2:30, telling her she should come over and let herself in, if she wanted to not have to worry about dinner tonight.

Ferre is supposed to get home around 6, and the clock on the wall reads 5:32 when she looks, the hands each ending in moths that flit between the flowers at each number. She's considering just how rude it would be to take a nap while she waits when Archimedes hops up on the couch and settles in against Courfeyrac's thigh. Startled, she looks down at the cat, who is staring back expectantly, and begins to nudge her thigh with his head.

"Ah," Courfeyrac whispers, keeping the quiet of the apartment, "of course you don't just want to cuddle. There's always another job for me to do." Her complaint is only slightly sincere, and she begins to rake her nails gently along the cat's brown head, paying extra mind to scratch behind his ears as she absently notes the chips in her polish.

How long has it been since she painted them last? A week? Two? She used to refresh the polish every Monday and Thursday, but she can't remember when she last followed that schedule.

Courfeyrac is considering scouring Combeferre's apartment for polish and remover when the door squeaks open, and she and Archimedes look over in synch.

Combeferre pauses in the doorway, Thai food in hand, and chuckles at the welcome she receives. Archimedes makes a sleepy noise, half purr and half meow, while Courfeyrac spreads her arms in stretch, shaking some feeling back into the arm that was bent at the perfect petting angle for so long.

When Combeferre has put her coat and shoes away, she steps over to the couch, giving Archimedes fond scratches under his chin in welcome and dropping an absentminded kiss on Courfeyrac's forehead when she looks up from her seat.

(This is new, even for their close friendship.)

Courf looks up with a question in her eyes, one her friend doesn't know how to answer correctly, and the moment stretches out, growing more awkward as they wait to see what the other will do.

Just as the silence is building to its crescendo, moments before one or both snaps, Archimedes jumps down off the couch with a soft thud and a jingle of the bell on his collar. Both women shift, watching his tail swishing as he darts between Combeferre's legs on his way to the kitchen.

The motion breaks Combeferre from the moment and she follows his lead, setting the bag of food on the counter and pulling out cartons. As she digs in the drawer for serving spoons, Courfeyrac comes in and starts grabbing plates down from the cupboard and setting the kettle on for tea. She pulls out two bags of mint before she sees the box of chamomile stashed at the back of Combeferre's tea shelf and exchanges it for her bag. It's just what she needs after a day like today, but she can't remember Ferre ever drinking the stuff before. Courf always keeps a box of mint for Combeferre at hers, unwilling to relinquish a mug of her favorite to someone who doesn’t even like it. Plus, the look of surprise on Combeferre's face every time she smells the brew, like she didn't expect Courfeyrac to know her favorite after so many years of friendship is heartwarming, rather than insulting.

They make quick work of moving cartons, plates, and silverware to the coffee table, and Combeferre begins to flip through the channels on tv while Courfeyrac turns her attention back to the boiling water, pouring out the two mugs and bringing them back to the couch.

The tv winds up on a _How It's Made_ re-run, their only contributions requests to "pass the pad thai, please" and "wait, can I have the rice before you put it down?"

The episode is wrapping up and their forkfuls are lagging when Courfeyrac finally asks, "How'd you know I'd need this today?"

Her question is, for the most part, rhetorical - she's too thankful for the food and company to question its roots, but Combeferre answers anyway, a look of soft concern on her face.

"You barely tweeted today; there wasn't even anything during your lunch break."

Courfeyrac holds back a correction - she hadn't even had a lunch break today - struck by Combeferre's understanding. "Just from that," she asks, "you knew?"

It's another question that doesn't demand an answer, Combeferre knows, but Courfeyrac has always pushed her to be less reserved. "You found time to tweet during your all-nighter before you took the bar. I'm pretty sure you even tweeted _during_ the bar. The only times you don't are when you're so stressed and busy you're ready to collapse. I thought maybe this would cushion the landing a little."

Courfeyrac barely stops to set her tea down on the coffee table before she throws her arms around Combeferre in a tight hug. "This helped so much more than a little, Ferre," she promises into her friend's shoulder. Combeferre returns the hug with one arm, carefully holding her own mug with her other hand, but putting no less emotion into the gesture.

They stay like that for probably too long, pulling away when the show changes over to _Mythbusters_ , drawing their attention with an explosion.

Courfeyrac stays cuddled against Combeferre for the rest of the episode, and forces herself to leave at the end, well aware that she could stay right there cuddled on the couch forever if she wasn't careful.

When she stands up, Ferre moves to join her but she gently shoves her back down before grabbing their dishes and trash, clearing off the coffee table and cleaning up after dinner. When she's dealt with the boxes and washed their dishes she stoops to pet Archimedes goodbye where he sits staring at the radiator, tail twitching at every groan of the pipes.

When she can't stall any longer, she gets up and makes her way behind the couch, dropping a kiss to the top of Combeferre's head and murmuring, "I should be off.  I can't thank you enough for tonight. You really are a miracle worker, you know that?"

Her words are aimed to distract Combeferre from her actions, and they hit their mark. There's a curiosity in Ferre's voice as she replies, "Well, it feels a bit of a contradiction, working miracles when I'm supposed to be practicing medicine, but I suppose I'll have to give it more of an effort if you really think I have the aptitude. There's no sense letting powers like that go to waste."

 

*

 

Since everyone started getting their own apartments and condos, the only time Courfeyrac regularly sees everyone is at meetings. Before Combeferre invited her for dinner last week, they hadn't had any time together one-on-one in months, and they hadn't even hung out together with Enjolras in weeks. Sometimes she misses their college days, living in the same dorm and, later, sharing a too-small apartment, all three of them too stubborn to ask their parents for help with the rent.

On days like this, though, when she comes home tense down to her bones and doesn't have to worry about anyone else being in her shower, she's glad she went in for her condo. Sometimes she wishes the second bedroom had a permanent resident, sure, and it was a lot less lonely when Marius moved in for a couple of months when he needed space from his family, but the point is today she starts stripping on her way through to the bathroom, leaving a trail of clothes she'll have to deal with _after_ she unwinds.

The shower, big enough for two and with a tub she can sink down into with ease was the selling point on the whole place. The location is okay, and the price was a bit high, but as soon as she saw the master bathroom, she knew.

Days like this make her glad she did, because as soon as the water is heated up she steps in and can feel the stress melting away.

Sure, today she found out that the firm needed to either take on cases they couldn't handle, start charging some of their pro bono cases, or lay off some people, but at least the hot water on her back was working at some of the knots. Sure, one of her court dates got pushed back for the fourth time, a stalling tactic from the prosecution that means she's going to be worrying about this case for another five months, at least. Sure, her headphones decided to break on the train ride home today, just as one of the evangelists decided to start preaching, but - Courfeyrac stops the thought in its tracks, pulling the tab to stop the tub from draining and watching the water accumulate.

Today really deserves a bath, maybe even with one of the bath bombs Jehan gave her as a housewarming present.

By the time she's out of the bath she is feeling much more relaxed, rubbing a towel through her hair as she puts on her comfiest pajamas, the ones with the emjois all over them.

When she finds her phone, thrown onto her bed in the shower preparation parade, she has a new text from Combeferre just five minutes old that reads, " _Hey, would you mind if I stopped over on my way home? My place seems too far away right now_."

She sends back an affirmative automatically, then stops to process the words. Their homes are almost equidistant from the hospital where Combeferre works, though if she remembers the train schedule it is two fewer transfers to head her way. She considers changing back into real clothes before stopping herself - they lived together for five years, pajamas are hardly the most embarrassing thing the woman has seen her in.

Instead, she makes her way into the kitchen and doubles the batch of hot chocolate she'd been planning on when she was sitting in her bath. The pasta she begins to throw together won't be a culinary marvel, but they've both had long days, and she really doesn't have the energy to make much more.

The pasta is in the water and the cocoa is keeping warm when there's a knock on her door. Combeferre has a key, has had one to every place Courfeyrac has lived since they lived together in college, but still she waits for her to open the door and invite her in.

Ferre looks worn down, and Courfeyrac immediately pulls her in for a hug, ready to listen if the words decide to come. Instead, she muffles a laugh against her neck.

"You actually wear them?"

Courfeyrac lets out a bit of a giggle herself, grinning as she pulls away just a bit. "Of course I do! They're the comfiest pajamas I have, _and_ they're from you! It's like you’re hugging me whenever I wear them!"

Her words hang there for a moment, and Courf can see a considering look on Combeferre's face. Before she can work herself up too much worrying if it was inappropriate of her to say, or if she gave anything away, she forces herself to lead the way into the kitchen. "Come, come! I made us hot cocoa and some dinner!"

She took a spoon and pulled one of the farfalle out of the water, holding it out for Combeferre to test. It was, they had discovered back in their first apartment, the perfect pasta for them. Courf loved to think of them as little bowties, and Ferre considered them butterflies and moths.

When they sat down on the couch a few minutes later, Courfeyrac flipped through the channels for something to watch while Combeferre took a reverent sip of her cocoa, getting some whipped cream on her nose, and letting out a satisfied huff when the milk was a perfectly drinkable temperature. Courfeyrac settled for a re-run of a procedural, perfect for background noise as they ate, and took a sip of her own drink, working to get a mini-marshmallow in, too.

After a few minutes of small talk, Combeferre finally set down her bowl, putting the ends of her dinner on hold as she leaned into her friend for support and whispered, "I had to call in the oncologist for a patient today."

Courfeyrac knew something big had happened, though even minor things seem big in pediatrics, but nothing ever hits Combeferre harder than this.

It's not fair, she thinks, bitterly, desperately. It's not far for kids to get cancer, and it's not fair for her to have to diagnose it; Combeferre, who knows the odds by heart, and who takes each case more personally than the next, especially when a diagnosis hits so hard. Still, her anger won't actually do Combeferre any good, so Courfeyrac wraps her arms around her, pulling her into a full hug and holding on tight. Maybe she can't change the nightmare some child's life is becoming, but if she holds tight enough maybe she can keep her friend from falling apart.

The ends of their cocoas go cold, the rest of their pasta sits uneaten, and they fall asleep like that, woken in the morning by the alarm on Combeferre's phone.

(The crick in her neck all day as she reads over case files is worth it.)

 

*

 

Two weeks later, neither incident has repeated itself. Courfeyrac knows, really she does, that two weeks can mean anything, especially with lives as busy as theirs, but that doesn't stop her from worrying at Enjolras during their lunch break.

"I just can't help worrying that maybe it was something I did. We fell asleep on the couch; maybe I said something in my sleep and she feels awkward bringing it up?" She pauses, and Enjolras is about to cut in when a horrifying thought occurs. "Oh no, maybe I accidentally groped her or something, and made her feel so uncomfortable that she never wants to see me again!"

He rests a hand on her arm at this, his eyes serious. "Courfeyrac. Stop for a second and listen to yourself. You, Combeferre, and I have known each other since sophomore year of college. That was eight years ago. We have all done things in those eight years far worse than anything you just listed, and our friendship has been fine."

Courfeyrac would swear she wasn't about to refute the point, but Enjolras raises a finger and continues, "Whatever you think you did, it couldn't have been a worse decision than us coming to the same firm."

Courfeyrac can't help laughing along, and that must have been his intent, because some of the tension leaves his shoulders as he begins to clean up his food. "You and I both know that the way to solve this is to just talk to Combeferre. I am positive nothing happened, but I want my lunch breaks drama-free, so you're going to need to confirm with her instead of asking me."

Enjolras smiles gently and pulls Courfeyrac in for a quick hug before taking his leave with a pointed glance at his watch. There's still 20 minutes left in their lunch hour, and she has skipped enough lunches this month to be able to take a little longer, too. It's just a matter of summoning the courage without spiraling into an anxiety attack.

Enjolras knew just what to say to stave it off, though, and made some valid points, at that. The only way to get back to normal is to communicate with Combeferre, but there's a gnawing feeling in her gut, making her wonder if the moments of comfort were the abnormality, if they're back to normal already.

She only lets her head rest on the table for a minute before getting up and going to the counter and ordering a latte to accompany the end of her sandwich.

While she waits for her drink she watches Musichetta step out of the kitchen to refill the pastry case and waves. It's tempting to go closer and start a real conversation, but she knows Musichetta has a job to do here at the Musain and she can't let herself get distracted from what she needs to do. It would be so easy to spend the rest of her lunch break chatting with her friend, ask after Joly and Bossuet and their new dog, but that would be avoidance and she has to be better than that.

Courfeyrac accepts her drink when it's finished, smiling as she thanks the barista and waving to Musichetta as she turns away, back to her sandwich and her dilemma.

She knows she needs to talk with Combeferre, knows that it's an important step in finding normal again, but she can't decide how to do it. Should she text? For clarity's sake, they should probably _talk_ , not just type, but should this be a phone call? Does she have time to visit at the hospital? Will Ferre even have time for either of those options?

She wants to call Enjolras and have him reassure her, but he has said his piece and removed himself from the discussion. Dragging him back in wouldn't be very fair of her.

She checks with her watch and winces. There's about ten minutes left for her to settle this if she doesn't want it hanging over her head for the rest of the day. It looks like, no matter what she chooses, she'll be taking that long lunch after all.

When she finishes sending a text to Combeferre, she has three minutes to let someone at the office know she won't be back on time. Before she switches threads to let Enj know, she reads it over one last time, hoping Combeferre reads levity and not the strain she is still feeling.

 **_to FerreBear_ ** _: If I were sending a carrier pigeon your way with an important message, would I be sending it to your place or the hospital?_

After texting Enjolras, she gives in to her nerves and drops her phone face down onto the table, its presence in her fingers burning, reminding her of the risk she's taking.

Surely a whole minute has passed by the time her phone vibrates, and she holds her breath as she flips it over, closing her eyes to avoid whatever message is displaying on the screen. When she finds her courage, she sees an affirmative from Enjolras.

She can feel his self-satisfaction through the text assuring her that she's set for at least an hour, probably the whole day if nothing new comes up. It's a dismissal outright, and she gets the feeling that even if something did come up, he would cover for her if she and Combeferre were still working things through.

It's been two minutes, she notes, and still no response to her text.

Maybe she's working right this second. Maybe she's in the middle of her commute, stuck on a crowded subway car and unable to pull out her phone. Maybe she leant Bossuet her phone since they last texted and it took an unfortunate swim.

Maybe she's in the middle of a staff meeting. Maybe she's in the shower.

Maybe she is at home but left her phone at work.

Maybe -

Courfeyrac's phone vibrates, and she jerks her gaze to it, not even sure how she managed looking away.

 **_from FerreBear:_ ** _I'm at the hospital for now, but about to clock out and head homeward. For the pigeon's sake, send it there._

 **_from FerreBear:_ ** _If you'd rather meet me in person somewhere, though, I'd be happy to come to you_

She wonders if this is the place to have the kind of talk she fears they will have, but sends her reply before she can doubt herself too much. If all else fails, she can direct them elsewhere once Combeferre arrives.

 **_to FerreBear:_ ** _@ Musain right now. Musichetta just restocked the cider donuts. If you're into that sort of thing._

It's the kind of move she normally doesn't pull on her friends, sure enough that they'll be there for her in the name of friendship, sure that they wouldn't make these offers if they were unwilling to follow through.

With the way things have been with Combeferre lately, Courfeyrac is almost surprised to get an affirmative response with a ten minute ETA attached.

It's enough time for her to finish her drink and consider ordering another to have something to hold, and have one ready on the table for Combeferre's arrival, too. She's pretty sure that Musichetta knows how many cups she's had in the past two hours, though, and would stop her before she even got the word out. Or she'd be given… _decaf_.

There's no need for that kind of negativity in her life, really.

She's clearing out old selfies from her camera roll by the time Combeferre arrives, waving at her from the doorway before heading to the counter to place an order. _She'll_ get what she asks for just fine, unless Joly has been keeping tabs again. The transaction goes through, though, so it appears either the two didn't share a shift today or the intake levels are within acceptable ranges. So far.

Courfeyrac isn't quite sure where this conversation will take them, but another espresso may be the weakest drink Combeferre craves by the time they're done.

Reaching into her purse, she pulls out the first thing she grabs - earbuds, in a hopeless knot, perfect for directing the fidgeting, nervous energy coursing through her. She's beginning to untangle one of the knots on an earbud when Combeferre sits down at the table, pausing momentarily and glancing at the tableau.

Courfeyrac swallows tightly before looking up, working a kink in the cable loose absentmindedly. Before she can process the look on Combeferre's face, she looks down again and says to her headphones, "Hey."

Her companion must burn her tongue when she takes a sip, but Courfeyrac still hasn't looked up and can't check for a wince. "Hey yourself," she says, and the wince is in her voice, Courf knows that much.

She wishes, deeply, that she had a hot drink herself, that she could have the pretense of a burned tongue to excuse the discomfort that's written for all to see in her body language and on her face. "It's-" she swallows softly, trying to trick her body into speaking normally. "It's been a while since we've talked. Is everything okay?" It's right there, on her tongue ( _Are we okay?_ ). She keeps it in by biting down and worrying her lip almost as thoroughly as she is the headphone cords in her hands.

When Combeferre takes a minute to respond, Courfeyrac knows it wasn't just her imagination this time. She risks a glance and sees something - shame? guilt? - on her friend's face, weighing heavy in her eyes and settling on her shoulders.

Combeferre catches her gaze, and Courfeyrac _really_ doesn’t want to know what she sees there, but whatever it is makes Ferre huff out a soft sigh. "It isn't like you did anything, I was just afraid that I did. I didn't want to crowd you if you were feeling mad or awkward and felt like you couldn't tell me."

That - well - "What? Ferre, what are you talking about?" Courfeyrac has to set down her headphones, mostly untangled, because she needs the brainpower to process Combeferre's words. "What do you think I'd be upset about?"

She's lost her footing, here, but knows that Combeferre must be as uncomfortable as she was when she thought herself to blame. She pulls back a little, maintaining eye contact but dropping her arms to her sides, angling in towards Combeferre with as much openness in her body as possible. She will answer eventually, but she doesn't need to feel any more awkward or pressured about it.

"Last time we hung out," Combeferre begins, pausing thoughtfully before continuing, "when I invited myself over after work, I… I got the impression that you'd been otherwise engaged before I interrupted." She takes another sip of her latte and Courfeyrac begins piecing the whole mess together.

She is about to voice her theory, with as little disbelief as she can muster, when Combeferre continues. "I saw the clothes when I came in and just figured you'd kicked whoever it was out when you got my message. And I know you should know to say no to me if I'm inconveniencing you, but you're so considerate that I'm not sure you actually _would_ do it. And then I started to wonder if something like that had happened any of the other nights I asked for your company last-minute, and I just figured you'd want some space from your friend, the cockblock."

"Ferre." Courfeyrac begins, unsure how to continue without ending in laughter or tears of relief. "Man, am I glad Enj is back at work right now," she mutters, before taking a bracing breath and repeating his sentiments. "Ferre, you're supposed to be the mature one, of the two of us. I thought they didn't let you become an adult until you'd mastered communication. You know, talking to people about potential issues, and all that."

Combeferre laughs a little, but seems to be having trouble meeting her eyes. Courfeyrac pushes on. "I feel ridiculous right now, but let me assure you, you haven't interrupted _anything_. Honestly, there hasn't been anything to interrupt in a while."

She holds her hand out palm-up on the table (an offering).

Combeferre looks at the hand on the table as she mutters, "Well, now, don't I feel the heel?" It's only the matter of Courfeyrac wiggling her fingers a little for Combeferre to acquiesce, holding her hand gently.

"You'll have to make it up to me by hanging out even more," Courfeyrac teases with a wink.

She pulls out her phone while Ferre laughs and sips at her drink, startled to see that it's been an hour since Enjolras left. She only thinks for a moment before sending him a text, dropping her phone and headphones into her bag and turning her full attention to the woman across from her.

"Do you want to start making up for that time now?"

 

*

 

It's when the weather starts warming up that Courfeyrac truly regrets deciding to be a lawyer. Sure, she gets to help people and, sure, she gets to work with her best friend, but taking public transport while dressed for court is a feature of the warmer months that she spends the rest of the year trying desperately to forget. Sometimes, it works.

Today, it leaves her pulling off her pantyhose in the courthouse bathroom as soon as court is released for the day, and texting Combeferre in desperate hope of company while she seeks out ice cream.

She agrees (thankfully) on the condition that they get it from the market down the street from her apartment, and Courfeyrac heads to the nearest subway station that'll get her moving in the right direction. When she enters the shop, blazer slung over her arm, hair pulled back as well as she can manage with the clip she'd had in her bag, Combeferre is sitting at one of the tables, reading a book.

Ferre looks up when she drapes her blazer over the chair opposite, and sweeps her eyes over Courfeyrac before asking, "So, how was the deposition?"

Courf groans out "Not air conditioned," as she turns to the counter and orders two scoops of salted caramel in a cone with chocolate sprinkles as soon as the worker asks for her order.

She pays with a 5 and shoves the change into the tip jar, not sure if she could have brought herself to do much more even if all she'd had to pay with was a 20.

When they’re back at the table she gets Combeferre started on R's antics when he stopped by the hospital last time she and Joly were on shift together, focusing her own energies on recovering from the heat and efforts of her day. She only lets herself get a little distracted watching Combeferre lick at her own cone before she forces herself back to reality. It wouldn't do to let herself be too obvious in her distraction.

She catches the other woman staring at her, a moment later, and only then feels the ice cream dripping on her hand. She does her best to lick it all up before it hits the table, but Ferre is still staring when she finishes.

 

*

 

A week later, they all make their way to the lake's shore, in an attempt to beat the heat. They plant their stuff in a patch of shade, though most towels wind up spreading off into the sunny sand, as well.

Bahorel begins to race towards the water, ripping off his shirt as he goes, only to be hit in the back by a bottle of sunscreen. Joly has his hands on his hips, looking as stern as he can when staring down someone a full foot taller than him. "I brought enough for everyone, and I expect you _all_ to protect yourselves."

He turns to stare right at Courfeyrac when he says that, catching her looking dubiously at her own dark skin, which has never once burned. "Melanoma is no joke, and I'll never forgive any of you if you get it."

She grabs a tube of SPF 30 under his watchful eye, and strips down to her bathing suit to get it everywhere. She's regretting wearing a two piece as she struggles to get her back without overbalancing to one side or the other. Her plight is so distracting that she doesn't notice Combeferre coming over until she hears a soft laugh to her left. She whips her head around and raises an eyebrow. "Do you think you could do better?"

Combeferre's grin grows more assured as she takes the sunscreen and gestures for Courfeyrac to turn her back. "I can if you permit me. You need to let me at your back, though."

She'd let any of their friends do this for her, they both know. She doesn't quite have the courage to tell her, "I'm afraid I'll actually melt if your hands are on me just now. Please, be gentle." She's not sure she'll ever have the courage, so she complies instead, only squirming a little at the temperature of the lotion. She's pretty sure Combeferre laughs at that, and then there are hands rubbing it around, warming it up and massaging it in. It's altogether too long and to quick, and then it's over and she finds herself offering to return the favor.

She can see Feuilly watching them out of the corner of her eye, and she hopes they won't say anything to Combeferre, or anyone else for that matter. She turns to stick her tongue out at them, receiving a cheeky grin in response, and by the time she turns back, Combeferre has her own shirt off and is offering her back up for coverage. The gold one-piece she's wearing has an open back, leaving her plenty of skin to cover, and contrasting beautifully with its brown tones.

Courfeyrac tries to keep her actions clinical, anything to not let herself get overly-friendly. She can't afford to let her touches linger or become too intimate. She's been working so hard at burying her feelings, she can't have that all be ruined _now_.

She's not sure how well she manages, but Combeferre doesn't say anything when she finishes, so she hurries to join Enjolras and R in the shallows, making a game of sneaking splashes and blaming them on the others.

When she glances back at shore, Ferre is reading some book that's nearly as thick as an encyclopedia while Jehan weaves a headband of flowers from the towel next to her.

 

When she gets home, she still feels relaxed from the day in the sun, warmed to the core by the light and time with all of her friends. She falls asleep quickly, just warm enough and content down to her bones.

She wakes up a few hours later, kicking off the covers and squirming. She squeezes her legs together as she turns to her side, and, _oh!_ That's why she woke up.

The heat between her legs has her moving a hand to her breasts, teasing one nipple to hardness and then the other. There's pleasure, here, but she knows touches won't be enough. She flicks on the light and pulls a worn novel from her nightstand, her gaze only lingering slightly on the cliché cover. She's read it enough that she knows where the good stuff starts and flips right there, her left hand moving back to her breasts as her right held up _Venerating Violets_ so she could read.

 

> _Not for the first time that night, Cora cursed herself for letting Becky slip out of her orbit._
> 
> _She'd missed her best friend, but, more than that, looking Becky over again, she can't believe she watched her friend get this hot without doing anything about it. That's definitely going to change tonight._
> 
> _When they leave the bar together and head back to their building, Cora isn't even sure what they talk about. She's still reeling a little over the fact that she just moved in next door to her childhood girl next door, but the boxes still all over her apartment give her the perfect excuse to follow Becky in._
> 
> _She has no excuse later, when they're settled on the couch, for leaning over and stealing a kiss, except that she's wanted this since high school, has wanted even more since she knew what wanting felt like. Fortunately for Cora, Becky seems all too eager to join in instead of asking questions._

 

The words are familiar; she's done this often enough. This book and she are well acquainted, and she knows how long she can wait before sliding her hand down, down, ghosting over her stomach and to the band of her underwear. She ghosts her fingers over her mound, leaving light touches along her lips, on her clit, pressing more firmly against her thighs as she read.

Her underwear was already wet when she started, but she waits until it's wet afresh before she slips her hand inside and begins to touch herself in earnest. As the scene heats up, her touches gain speed, pressure, attention. She knows what her body needs, gives herself over to the words and her hand, flicks her clit before circling her entrance, repeating the moves a few times before she changes tactics.

As the scene heads towards the climax, she shifts the angle of her hand so her thumb can attend to her clit while her other fingers tease her labia and hole, dipping in on occasion, always timed with pressure on her clit.

 

> _Spread out on the bed together, Cora can't quite believe it's all happening. She's too aware of her nakedness, but when Becky begins to play with her breast, she's brought back into the moment and remembers that for every layer of clothing she'd removed, Becky had eagerly matched her._
> 
> _She knows, now, exactly what Becky looks like when she's desperate to come, exactly what she tastes like when she does, and that's the sort of stuff that stays with a girl._
> 
> _She gasps out a "Please," as Becky slips a leg between hers, and Cora leans in for a kiss just to shut herself up. She's pretty sure if she lets herself get too far gone, she'll be confessing her undying love, and while it's a fact she accepted years ago, it seems too soon for that kind of an admission._
> 
> _Cora finds herself grinding down on the thigh between hers, generating as much friction on her clit as she can, and she knows it'll only be a matter of time before she herself comes, replaying Becky's breathy moans in her head as she works her way towards orgasm._
> 
> _She breaks out of the kiss to gasp, begging and pleading with Becky for faster, more, please, and when Cora feels Becky suck lightly on her nipple, she's lost._
> 
> _She jumps over the cliff of orgasm, reveling in the free-fall and trusting Becky to catch her when it comes time to land._
> 
>  

She focuses in on their pleasure and her own, imagining herself in the scene as she finally inserts a finger, then two, so she can clench down on something when she hits her clit just right.

She's slipping at the edge when the thought of Combeferre joining her in the scene crosses her mind, and when she comes down from the orgasm that sends her into, she sits up, stowing away the novel and sitting back against the headboard.

It's not the first time her fantasies have involved someone she knows. And some truly ridiculous things have set her off when she was that close to orgasm before, but this feels different.

She can handle being attracted to her friend, she's handled that for years, now. But this wasn't just imagining a fuck. The scene she chose tonight was all about the emotions, the love. She's not sure she can handle thinking of Combeferre in that kind of a context. She comfortable admitting that a disproportionate number of her friends are hot as hell, but considering real relationships with any of them is so far from her comfort zone.

If there were romance involved, they'd have to date, and dating Combeferre would be… Well, they'd have to go out on dates, without any of their friends and get dinner together and watch movies and… basically do everything they'd been doing the past few months.

_Fuck._

Courfeyrac shuts off the light and slumps back down into the bed.

 

*

 

The thing is, Courfeyrac can't even talk to anyone about this, because almost all of her friends are a bunch of fucking gossips. Normally, she loves this, revels in the information they can pass on to her, but she _cannot_ afford the risk of it getting back to Combeferre, so she has to work through it all herself.

Her friends are hot. This has been a fact of her life for so long she sometimes forgets it when they're meeting new people. Her friends are incredible people. They're caring and funny and smart and tough and clever and driven. Every single one is incredible.

So why is she reacting like this with Combeferre? Combeferre is, objectively, no more special or attractive than any number of her friends. But it's only Combeferre she finds herself wanting to spend more and more time with. She doesn't own Joly's preferred blend of coffee or keep extra blankets for Grantaire to use when he inevitably gets cold. She does own a box of mint tea just for Ferre, and a sweater that she bought knowing it would fit her much better, stashed in her dresser just waiting for a day when Ferre forgets her jacket.

When she stops to consider them, the number of ways she has made special accommodations in her life for Combeferre is staggering compared to the steps she takes for even Enjolras, who she has been friends with for just as long. Add that to the not-dates they've been going on for almost half a year, and she's not so sure she likes the sum.

If they start dating for real, they could break up and then what if they never get back to this level of friendship? What if things get awkward between them? What if it throws off the balance of les Amis or what if Enjolras feels like he has to choose between them?

With each new disastrous outcome her breathing speeds up, her chest feeling tighter with every exhale. It's a familiar discomfort that has her reaching for her phone and opening up the breathing app Joly had pointed her to a few years back. She concentrates on breathing in time with the screen, in, then out, her breaths getting deeper and her chest loosening as time passes.

She knows she needs to stop working herself up over this, and resolves herself to thinking it through more, but until then she switches to kitten videos to keep herself distracted.

 

*

 

The next time Combeferre asks to hang out, she freezes.

She's been wholly unsuccessful at willing her feelings away, and to go on this not-date under current conditions feels dishonest. (Would Combeferre still want to be around her if she knew?)

Sure, her friend knows just how pansexual she is - even if she hadn't been open about it from the first conversation, it would have come up over the years of friend and roommateship. But there's a difference between being comfortable around someone who is hypothetically attracted to beings like you and being comfortable around someone who is distinctly lusting after you. Is she really any different from some creep in a bar who pretends to want to be friends but will be bitching about the freindzone in a month?

This isn't just her decision, though. Ferre is also involved in this friendship and should have a say in what happens to it, for better or worse.

She's not entirely sure she's making the right decision as she invites her to a picnic in the park in a few hours, but at least it'll be neutral territory. She distracts herself by searching for the picnic basket she _knows_ she had back in May, and loses herself in the rest of the preparation. They won't need much food if Combeferre leaves as soon as she hears the news, but she can't plan for that at this point.

When sandwiches and fruit are packed and a blanket shoved on top, Courfeyrac has to hurry towards the park, nearer to Combeferre's place, but with the intricate fountain that Courf knows she loves to watch. And if that gives Courfeyrac the perfect chance to watch her friend uncaught, well, at least she'll be admitting to her creepiness today.

 

The problem with that plan is that when she arrives at the park, Combeferre is right near the fountain where Courfeyrac knew she'd be. Worse, she's wearing a sundress that Courfeyrac has never seen before and can't decide if she should be grateful or disappointed about that. The bright smile she gets as she approaches makes it all so much better and worse, and she's glad her skin can't betray her blush because the August heat isn't actually hot enough to excuse it.

She busies herself with pulling out the blanket with a flourish and they get themselves settled on it, Courfeyrac's basket between them as they pull out food in the dappled afternoon light filtering through the leaves above them.

The lighting makes Combeferre look even lovelier than usual, and she can't help wondering if Combeferre's mother would insist on a traditional Indian wedding, which one of them would ride in on the horse - or maybe an elephant? And could they have it in this park, maybe, and - _no._ That's not a train of thought she can afford to ride.

She turns her attention back to Ferre, catching the end of a story about the moth she saved from Archimedes last night.

"And I just know he was going to eat the poor thing! It's a good thing he was making such a racket jumping all over the counters trying to get at it, or he might have succeeded!"

Courfeyrac laughs, trying to imagine waking up to that tableau, and finds she can do it, if she pictures Combeferre in the bed next to her. Shit.

"Well," she manages, "let's hope that your new friend was able to carry on with its mothy life outside and didn't run straight into a zapper!"

Combeferre gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth in exaggerated horror. "Courf! How could you wish such a fate on an innocent moth?"

Courfeyrac pops some grapes in her mouth with a grin and a wink. "Well, I mean, there's also a chance it got abducted by some aliens and is now telling them all about its home planet and the great beast it narrowly escaped from. Hell, it could also be at the bug bar right now, slurring out the story over a dewdrop drink, while everyone else there rolls their eyes. We'll never know."

Ferre's eyes light up, and they're off. They spend the next hour talking over the plausibility of moth-alien relations and insect bars and what sorts of substances could intoxicate them.

When the food is gone and clouds begin creeping into the sky, they pack up and head to Combeferre's - Courfeyrac promised to give Archimedes a stern talking-to about what he's allowed to eat.

It's on the walk over that Courfeyrac feels the pressure of not having said anything yet, and here she is, losing neutral ground. She's not giving up on talking things through, but promises herself she'll get out of there the instant Combeferre starts looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.

 

"Ferre, I need to talk to you about something." (Oh. So smooth.)

It was the wrong way to start.

Combeferre straightens up where she's sprawled on the couch, meeting Courfeyrac's eye as she comes back from a pep-talk with the bathroom mirror.

"Did I do-"  
"I just wanted to-"

They both stop and glance away. They’ve never been this awkward or this out of sync.

Courfeyrac looks at her friend, searching for any reactions. (A perfect mask, so free of emotions that it must be made entirely of them.)

She takes a fortifying breath before continuing again, moving to sit in the chair closest to the couch, rather than the next cushion over. (There is altogether too much and not enough space between them.)

"It's just - when we were together today, it kind of felt like…"

She's not sure she can say it. She doesn't want to say it, but Combeferre takes over for her anyway. "A date, right?"

Her voice is empty, nearly clinical, and oh, no, that can't be good at all. She needs to make this better, emotional confessions be damned. "Yeah, and that's weird for us, right? Going on dates with your best friend? Who does that?"

She tries to laugh, but it gets caught in her throat and makes an ugly sound. She hurries on. "I mean, you're gorgeous, don't get me wrong, but we've been friends for so long. If we were gonna date it would have happened already."

She watches Archimedes enter the room, weaving under chair legs and towards them, and wonders if she'll be able to use him as a shield.

He makes his way over towards Combeferre, and she scoops him up and begins petting, her face still carefully blank. Courfeyrac resists the urge to cringe. It's only 4:30 and she's already managed to ruin everything.

And tomorrow's Monday, on top of it all.

She only registers that time has passed when Archimedes whines and wriggles his way to the floor, and then she and Combeferre catch each other sneaking glances across the distance between them.

With an awkward laugh, Combeferre gets up, tossing the remote at her and offering, "If you find something to watch, I'll find the wine that's somewhere in my fridge." (Courfeyrac can't take it fast enough.)

By the time Combeferre returns, Courfeyrac has migrated to one end of the couch and found a _Cosmos_ marathon to watch. A lot of the science is more in-depth than she's ever cared to get, but Ferre watched every episode of _Ally McBeal_ with her a few years ago, despite having only a practical interest in the law.

Combeferre sets down two mugs and an open bottle of red on the coffee table, pouring some out in each and handing one over before settling in on the cushion next to Courfeyrac. There's more space between them than usual, but Courfeyrac breathes easier - Ferre could have chosen the far cushion, leaving an unbearable distance between them.

 

Two episodes and two mugs each later, Courfeyrac is finally starting to relax. Combeferre seems to be drifting off, so Courfeyrac gets up to cook them something, settling for the pizza in the freezer. She sets a timer on her phone and makes her way back to the couch, where Ferre settles in against her when she sits. It's enough to have her dozing herself, finally losing some of the tension she's been carrying around since her revelation.

When the timer goes off, it startles them both, but she manages to settle Combeferre as she gets up, returning with the pizza, freshly plated and sliced, and napkins. It's then that Courfeyrac coaxes her back to the waking world.

"Hey, Ferre-bear, I made us dinner. We can't let this gourmet meal go to waste, kay?"

Combeferre is still sleep-fuzzy as she sits up, though a bit indignant at the nickname, and Courfeyrac has to hold back a sigh at how much she needs the sight in her life.

They manage to eat 2/3 of the pizza with the tv's volume down low, not really watching, but not really talking, either. It's quiet and comfortable and only Archimedes sniffing around gets them to put away the leftovers. While Combeferre stores the last 2 slices, Courf makes quick work of washing their dishes and dealing with the empty bottle.

When she turns around, a half-formed question on her lips, Combeferre is there, so close and so, so kissable.

She knows she shouldn't, but she's too relaxed right now; her guard is down and her self-control is waning, and she takes the half-step to close the gap between them, staring for a moment before she presses their lips together.

It feels inevitable, clandestine, amazing, but Combeferre isn't reacting. She's about to pull back, spew some apologies and run home when Ferre finally kisses back, and all hope of self-control is lost. If this is her only chance, she's taking it.

Neither of them was holding anything, which makes it much easier for them to throw their arms around each other and deepen the kiss. It's escalating fast enough that she's not stopping to think it through, instead pressing herself up against Combeferre, trying to close every gap between them, sure they can get closer.

She loses time in their kisses, moving to mouth at Combeferre's neck, though she's not brave enough to leave any marks. Eventually, she starts moving and it's all Courfeyrac can do to follow the momentum back, down the hall and into the bedroom, where her hands finally settle on the zipper of her sundress. She gives a gentle tug, waiting for any sign of discomfort, but Combeferre moves her own hands under Courfeyrac's shirt, and whispers a breathy "please" against her jaw.

What could she be expected to do with that kind of a response? She made quick work of the zipper, shoving at the shoulders of the dress when it's down, not wanting to dislodge the hands that settled on her waist, but also not willing to wait for the dress to hit the floor.

It's a compromise - Combeferre pulls back to slip out of her dress, and Courfeyrac pulls off her top, trying to remember what bra she put on today. As she drops the shirt she looks down, and, oh - the blue one. It's not lacey or especially push-up-ey, but it does provide a striking contrast against her skin, and when she glances up, it seems to have captured Combeferre's attentions. Combeferre, for her part, has a black bra on; the room is dim enough to make the details hard to suss out, but it definitely looks _good_. (She gets a flash of a movie scene - buying black lingerie with the intent of it being seen - and then she's pulled back by Ferre's hands.)

Combeferre grips at her arms, steadying, bracing, and Courf can only wait so long before going in for another kiss.

When she's kissing her way down Combeferre's neck again, her hands slip down Courf's sides, stopping at her skirt and finding the zipper at the side. It's an incredible relief to feel it fall past her legs, to step out of it and move them towards the bed as her mouth nears Combeferre's breasts.

She's kissing and sucking along the top of that black bra - she can see, this close, a lace pattern on top, can feeling it occasionally scratching at her chin, and it's all she can do to reach around to unclasp the bra, reveling in Combeferre's breasts, the weight of them when she catches them in her palms as the woman against her does the rest of the work of removing it. As her focus narrows, Combeferre manages to maneuver her onto the bed, shoving just a bit, so Courf lands on the bed, staring up at her best friend.

Courfeyrac can only stare as Combeferre moves to cover her, asking quietly, "Is this alright? You've got to know you can tell me to stop."

It takes a moment to process her words, Courfeyrac is so bereft at the loss of contact, but when she does she grabs for her again, whispering, "God, I'd be crazy to want to stop."

It's Combeferre's turn to play with her breasts, clearly appreciative of the front clasp as she opens the blue bra and brings a hand up to play with a nipple. Courfeyrac lets out a moan, as soft as she can make it, aware of how fragile the moment is. Her power of thought is soon stripped away when Ferre's mouth moves to her other breast, and she's overly eager when Combeferre finally moves to remove her panties. (Unremarkable, purple, not at all matching her bra.)

She shifts her hips in an attempt to help, and when Combeferre walks her hand up Courfeyrac's thigh, she has to contain a squirm. Between the hand working its way towards her center and the lips on her tits she's already on her way towards an orgasm, though it's a ways off yet. She's all for getting closer to it, but Ferre pulls back with another question.

"Are you - I think I have dams and stuff around her somewhere, if we need them."

Processing really isn't something Courfeyrac's brain is great at right now, but she thinks it through before answering, "It's on you - I'm clean and it's been a while. Plus," she manages a grin, "you _are_ the medical professional, here."

Combeferre grins right back before finally walking her finger to the top of Courfeyrac's thigh, laughing softly when her legs spread for her. She dances around Courfeyrac's vulva for a moment, ghosting up, across her clit, down to her entrance, then up again.

Courfeyrac feels like she should be ashamed of the needy noise she makes.

Ferre moves to go back to her breasts, but Courfeyrac captures her lips, focusing back in on their kisses while Combeferre grows bolder, stroking in gentle circles, pausing to focus in on her clit or her hole before circling back around again.

It doesn't take long for Courfeyrac to shift her hips just right, causing a finger to slip in, just a bit, and she moans in response, hoping Combeferre will get the message. She brings her own hand up to her breasts, teasing at them while Combeferre finally slips a finger inside; she's so wet and ready, and the finger isn't enough but it's definitely a start.

She's really not sure how long it is before Combeferre has two fingers inside and is rubbing at her clit, but it's only moments after that when she comes, breaking from their kiss to moan Ferre's name as softly as she can manage. (She's not actually that successful at muffling it. She's also not that sorry.)

She takes a moment to catch her breath, and to process what just happened. She shoves gently at Combeferre's shoulder and she flops over onto her back, slightly stiffer than she was before.

Oh, no, that won't do at all.

Courfeyrac moves above the other woman with a grin, still a little breathless and entirely too happy, kissing her until she relaxes into the pleasure again. She can see how Combeferre could have worried - it's not usually a good sign to be pushed away - and it settles her resolve.

She kisses her way down, down, stopping to tease the breasts below her before continuing on her way, nipping at her underwear - blue, that might be why she thought she heard a laugh earlier - and across her thighs. The more attention she dedicates to the task, the wider Combeferre spreads her legs and the more she squirms.

When she finally pulls Combeferre's panties off, she has to stop and take in the sight before her. She never thought she'd get to know her this intimately, never thought the privilege of this view would be hers, and she wants to spend an eternity memorizing every detail, but the woman before her is squirming and making small, yearning noises, and she is helpless to do anything but lean in and get a taste.

She spends the first minutes feeling Combeferre out, seeing what earns her a reaction and where to focus her efforts. When she is gasping softly and shifting her hips, hands grasped in the sheet at her sides, Courfeyrac finally moves a finger to tease at her entrance, using her tongue to confess the extent of her affections against Combeferre's clit and labia. It's the closest she's going to get to saying the words, and she repeats the motions until Combeferre shakes apart around her fingers.

When Ferre shoves gently at her head, she eases off and moves up the mattress, landing with her head on Combeferre's chest, her thoughts well past the sluggishness of post-orgasm bliss and heading back to the worry she'd been ignoring since their first kisses.

She ignores it as best as she can, trying to focus on the here and now, instead of the catastrophe awaiting her in the morning. For each panicked thought that tries to invade her mind, she leaves a kiss on the skin before her, and she feels it as Ferre's breaths even out and she falls asleep.

There are conversations they probably should have had, but she focuses on giving more kisses instead of worrying. She's not about to wake her up to have an uncomfortable conversation.

Her bladder, however, is plenty content to provide discomfort, so she forces herself up, finding her phone in the kitchen on the way to the bathroom, pulling down the covers and shifting them to cover both of them before she snuggles back against her friend - it's not like cuddling could make things any worse - and eventually finding sleep.

 

She wakes up to texts from Enjolras.

 **_from Enj:_ ** _Ferre just texted me with more details than I needed, in a panic about last night. I'm 99% sure she has nothing to worry about, but I need You to tell her that because the words mean nothing coming from me._

 ** _from Enj:_** _Please, Courfeyrac_. _Please talk about this with her._

 **_from Enj:_ ** _Actually, I forbid you to come in to the office until you've sorted this out._

 **_from Enj:_ ** _I just got Marius on my side about this. If you show up at work, we're smashing your coffee mugs._

She looks at the timestamp, noting that the first two came in around five AM. The more recent pair were just a few minutes ago, and must have been what woke her up.

From the stillness of the figure in her periphery, Combeferre is awake, too, and they're both waiting for the other to make her move. Combeferre must be freaking out, regretting everything, trying to find a way to reason her way out of this, and she feels herself shrink in on herself. Still, Enjolras couldn't have been intentionally steering her wrong; there must be some way to fix this.

She turns on her side, facing Ferre and noticing that the woman was staring straight at the ceiling, eyes tracing the constellations that stopped glowing hours ago.

"Hey," she begins, unsure of herself but not able to bear the silence for a moment longer.

Courfeyrac can't imagine what thoughts are racing across Combeferre's face, but she watches them anyway, trying not to freak out just yet.

"Good morning, Courfeyrac." There's a strain in her voice that has Courf shrinking back, sure all her worst fears are confirmed.

She doesn't know how to get through this, how to move past the awkwardness, maybe even really talk about things.

She sits up, the sheet collecting at her waist and Combeferre steadfastly not looking at her chest. Her hair never made it out of the twist she had it in yesterday, and she begins working at that while she searches for the words.

Talking and arguing and convincing is her job, yet she can't even get out a full sentence, when this actually matters to her.

"I… I have something I need to confess," she finally says. She knows she doesn't sound very eager to get this out, but she really had been hoping Combeferre would jump in and say something for her. If she's going to have to start, she should get everything out there.

Her friend looks at her, finally, carefully focusing on her face, searching. In a rush, Courfeyrac adds, "Please, let me get everything out before you say anything. I'm not sure I'll even be able to get it all out as it is."

When she gets a nod in response, solemn and sincere, she breathes a little easier and stops to organize her thoughts.

"I wanted to say these things yesterday afternoon, really, when I asked you on the picnic, but then it was so _nice_ , and I couldn't bring myself to ruin the mood. And then I tried to talk about it last night, but it appears all I managed to do was put my foot in my mouth, instead. I am really sorry about that, by the way."

She looks down, well aware that she's stalling, but she really can't help it. This is the moment she either fucks everything up or - maybe, if Enjolras is to be believed - things start moving forward.

"I just - I need you to understand that I _love_ spending time with you, but the more we hung out, the more it started to feel like dates. And the more it felt like dates, the more I realized how upset I was that they weren't dates. I - I was half convinced it was all wishful thinking, honestly. I'm a little worried it still is wishful thinking."

She's not truly done, but she also has no clue how to guarantee Combeferre won't run off if she goes into any further detail, so she promptly shuts her mouth when she hears a soft gasp.

She's amazed this is news to anyone, but Combeferre's whispered, "I thought - I thought maybe you were offended at the way we were almost-dating. I was so worried you'd find me out and cut me out for it."

Courfeyrac shakes her head as emphatically as she can manage, frantically grabbing at Combeferre's hands to reassure her. "I was only upset by how much I wanted them to be real dates. I was a little bit crushed by how much I was crushing on you." It's the kind of earnestness she wishes she could pull out on-demand in the courtroom, but this is so much more important than any trial she's ever been responsible for.

Combeferre shifts a bit, like she's thinking about getting up, before she freezes. "You _were_ crushing on me? Did last night get it out of your system?"

The very thought is ridiculous, and Courfeyrac can't hide the relief she feels at Ferre's concern.. "Oh, my dear, _no_. I'm not sure anything can get it out of my system at this point, though I certainly tried. Well, I only tried the once - would you believe a lovely lady from the Corinthe didn't appreciate the way I kept moaning your name?"

They both manage a laugh at that, and Combeferre finally sits up, leaning in to Courfeyrac, their foreheads touching softly.

"So," she begins, looking Courfeyrac in the eye and causing her breath to catch, "does that mean you'd like to continue with our not-dates?"

"Better. I'd like to take you on _real_ dates."

When Combeferre kisses her, Courfeyrac takes it as a yes, and the surge of happiness she feels is unquantifiable. Enjolras is probably going to be insufferable, but he did all but give her the day off, so she's content to kiss Ferre gently until Archimedes starts scratching at the door, asking for breakfast.

They move in tandem as they get up, Courfeyrac wrapping herself in the comforter and Ferre putting on her robe, and head out into the rest of the apartment to rectify the gross neglect to which they've apparently subjected poor Archimedes.

Courfeyrac wonders, vaguely, how the cat would react to a move. It's probably too early, but they've basically been dating for months, and they've lived together before. Her condo really could use more life in it.


End file.
